


Oven Mitts Required

by duskblue



Series: Irondad Bingo 2019 [7]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner helps a lot, Chicken Pox, Gen, POV Peter Parker, Peter is the caregiver, Sickfic, Tony Stark is a bad patient, Whump, everyone's gonna be okay! i promise!, peter is afraid of needles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 06:09:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20223103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskblue/pseuds/duskblue
Summary: Peter just got over the chicken pox. Now it’s Tony’s turn. Unfortunately, Tony is not the best patient. Fortunately, Bruce Banner is there to help.Part of my Iron Dad Bingo! I'm going to use the prompt: Sleepy





	Oven Mitts Required

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here's my next short story! This is technically a continuation of the last story, "Extra Noodles," but it can be read on its own. Peter was sick in the first story, and now it's Tony's turn. (unfortunately for everyone)

It has been a week since Peter was first diagnosed with chicken pox by Dr Bruce Banner in the middle of the night, and he’s pretty much recovered. His fever is long gone, he has his energy almost completely back, and all that remains are the faint remnants of the tell-tale rash that had previously covered his body.

Mr Stark, on the other hand, is not doing so well. Peter doesn’t need to be cared for anymore, but Mr Stark is doing it on autopilot, even though it’s clear to Peter that he should be resting. He doesn’t have a rash yet, but Dr Banner says it’s almost inevitable that he’ll come down with chicken pox as well. Mr Stark, stubbornly, says he’s feeling fine every time Peter asks him. It’s almost like he’s trying to fight off the illness by sheer willpower. 

“Drink this,” Mr Stark says, bringing a glass of water over to where Peter is sitting in the living room. “You need to keep hydrated.”

“I _am_ hydrated, Mr Stark,” Peter says, but accepts the glass anyway. “You’re the one who should be keeping hydrated. Any moment now you’re going to come down with a fever. FRIDAY, what’s Mr Stark’s temperature?”

“It’s 99.2, Peter,” FRIDAY replies. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, but it is slightly elevated. I suggest giving him tylenol now since he’s been exposed to the varicella virus recently.”

“You heard FRIDAY,” Peter says, standing up and grabbing Mr Stark’s arm before he can walk away. “You need to rest! You’ve been running all over for the past week waiting on me. Listen to me when I say that now it’s your turn. Sit. I’ll go get the tylenol.”

“I’m fine,” Mr Stark says, pushing the glass of water back at Peter when he tries to hand it to him. “I’m not getting sick, and I don’t need to hydrate. Besides, I already drank three cups of coffee this morning.”

“Coffee is a mild diuretic,” FRIDAY offers. “Though normally, it wouldn’t matter, with an elevated temperature, you should be drinking things that don’t contain caffeine.”

Mr Stark glares at the ceiling. “No one asked you, FRIDAY.” He shifts his focus to Peter. “Listen, Pete. I’m fine. I’m not getting sick. The reason my temperature is elevated is probably because i just drank three cups of very hot coffee. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Peter, who still hasn’t successfully handed the water back to Mr Stark, makes a hasty decision and sets it down on the table. Then he fixes Mr Stark with a determined look and lunges at him, pushing him back until the backs of his legs reach the couch, and he has no choice but to sit down. 

Mr Stark falls into the cushions. “I swear, kid,” he says after he has recovered from the shock. “For all I’ve done for you, especially this last week, for you to just push me like that? It hurts a lot. And not physically,” he adds. “Emotionally.”

Peter takes this opportunity to hand him the glass of water. “You’ll thank me later. Don’t think I don’t notice you’ve been denying this for days, by the way. Sleep doesn’t make you weak, Mr Stark, you know that, right?”

Mr Stark, who has no choice but to hold onto the glass of water since Peter is standing between him and the coffee table, frowns. “You know, Parker, I’m the adult here. You’re the kid, in case you forgot. _You_ need to sleep. I don’t require as much sleep as a growing kid. I’m going to be just fine.”

“Actually,” Dr Banner’s voice says from the doorway to the kitchen. “Peter is right. You should have been sleeping more than usual. This virus is actually harder on adults than it is children, so most likely, Tony, you’re going to have a really awful week coming up. And you should be drinking plenty of water. Want me to get you a straw?”

“No, I don’t want a straw,” Mr Stark says, sounding like a grumpy teenager.

“He’s got an elevated temperature, Dr Banner,” Peter says. “That’s probably why he’s so grumpy.”

“I’ll go get the tylenol,” Dr Banner says, and then when Tony isn’t looking, he beckons Peter to follow him.

“I’ll come with!” Peter says, and races off after him. 

The two of them walk through the kitchen and towards the bathroom in the hallway where Tony and Pepper keep their over the counter medications. Dr Banner holds the door open for Peter and then shuts it behind them. 

“I have a feeling this is going to be a very long week for us,” he says, reaching for the medicine cabinet. “More so for me, since lucky for you, you get to go back to school on Monday. But I think Pepper’s coming back on Tuesday, so she can deal with him after that. In the meantime, it’s up to us to make sure he takes care of himself. Okay?”

Peter nods. “Got it.” After all, Mr Stark has practically moved mountains to make sure Peter was as comfortable as possible when he was sick. It’s only right that Peter should do the same for him. “I’m going to treat this as a mission. Make sure Mr Stark gets better at all costs.”

Dr Banner gives him a soft half smile. “You’re a good kid, Peter. And brave. Very brave.”

“I know it’s not gonna be easy,” Peter says, taking the bottle of tylenol from Dr Banner when it’s handed to him. “But I will do this. No more lab time until you give him the all clear. He’s relegated to movies and cards and _maybe_ video games. But only if he’s up to it. Otherwise he has to stay in bed or on the couch. Just like he made me do.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dr Banner pats his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll make him some tea while you try to get him to swallow those pills. Then maybe he’ll take a nap.”

They emerge from the bathroom and back out into the living room to find Mr Stark doing something on his tablet. Peter sits down beside him and pulls his feet up onto the cushion while he examines the bottle. 

“Let’s see,” he says. “Twelve and over, take two tablets every six hours. That’s you, Mr Stark.” He opens the bottle and takes out two tablets, but when he looks up at Mr Stark, he’s getting a frown in return. “What?”

“I’m not stupid, Pete,” Mr Stark says, his frown deepening. “You and the good doctor were conspiring against me. Don’t forget that I have eyes everywhere.”

Peter narrows his eyes back at him. “I already know that FRIDAY is barred from the bathrooms, so you can’t use that one on me. Now here, take your medicine.” He holds out the hand that’s holding the two pills and waits for Mr Stark to take them.

“Fine.” Mr Stark sighs and reaches for the pills. By the time he’s popped them into his mouth, Peter is handing him the water he’s barely touched.

Peter smiles while Mr Stark takes several large gulps and washes the pills down. By the time Dr Banner appears with some herbal tea, Mr Stark takes it without complaint. Then he and Peter spend the rest of the evening watching movies while Dr Banner returns to his lab with strict instructions (sent to Peter’s phone) that he should be called if anything changes.

Maybe this won’t be so hard, Peter can’t help but think when Mr Stark finally falls asleep, half buried in pillows and blankets that Peter has propped up around him.

~*~

The next day gets worse. Mr Stark wakes up with a higher fever than he had last night, and this time, happily accepts the tylenol when Peter holds it out in front of him. 

“This is where I die,” Mr Stark says, sadly, not bothering to raise his head from the pillow. “A teenager is taking care of me. I wanna call Pepper.”

“You can call Miss Potts after you swallow those pills,” Peter says, holding up a glass of water with a straw to Mr Stark’s face. After he’s swallowed the pills, Peter sets the glass back on the coffee table. “She might be sleeping. I don’t know what time it is in China.”

“FRIDAY, call Pepper,” Mr Stark says anyway.

“Calling Miss Potts,” FRIDAY says, and Peter crawls onto the couch, finding a spot for himself by Mr Stark’s legs. 

“Tony?” Miss Potts’ voice comes over the speakers. “Everything okay? You usually don’t call me when it’s… seven-thirty in the morning there.”

“Pep, I’m dying,” Mr Stark croaks.

Peter clears his throat. “He’s not dying, Miss Potts. He has the chicken pox. Dr Banner and I had to force him to sit down yesterday, and now I’m not sure if he’s going to ever get off the couch.”

“Hmm,” Miss Potts hums. “Sounds about right. Thanks for looking after him, Peter. I know he can be a handful when he’s sick. He makes it worse for himself, really. No matter how much I tell him he should take care of himself when he’s not sick, he won’t listen to me.”

“I am right here, you know,” Mr Stark says, sounding a little mad. “I called you for sympathy. This doesn’t sound like sympathy.”

“Oh, honey,” Miss Potts says in a sweet voice that is probably only for his benefit. “I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well. You took such good care of Peter that you caught what he had, and now you’re miserable. Only a really good dad would put themselves in harms way for their kid. You don’t deserve to be sick, but here you are. Miserable. I’m going to order you a medal. Okay? Would that make you feel better?”

Mr Stark looks at Peter like he can’t believe she dared. “Well you started out okay, but seriously? You know what, I do deserve a medal. Make sure it’s solid gold, okay? I don’t know why I called you. I should have called Rhodey.”

“You think Rhodey will give you more sympathy?” Miss Potts replies. “Look, Tony, I’m sorry you’re sick, but you already have the person who will give you the most sympathy right there. So please, will you just let him take care of you? You really are a good dad. I meant that. Not every dad would do what you do. I’m sure Peter would agree. I’m sure that’s why he’s trying to take care of you right now. Please, just let him. No one wants you to be sick, I promise.”

“That was better,” Mr Stark mumbles and then sighs. “Okay, fine. I’ll let this goofball make me soup and stuff. And I promise I’ll take my meds as directed. I’m sure Bruce is going to see to that anyway.”

“And me too!” Peter pipes up. “Don’t worry, Miss Potts. I know exactly what it feels like to have the chicken pox, so I know exactly what he’ll need. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Miss Potts says. “I know I can count on you. But you text me if you need anything. And I know Dr Banner is looking after you both too, so don’t be afraid to ask him for anything.”

“Got it, Miss Potts. You can definitely count on me.”

Mr Stark puts his arm over his eyes and groans. “Everyone’s against me.”

“No,” Miss Potts says, her voice stern. “We’re all for you. We love you, so we’re going to make sure you come out of this as easily as possible. I have to get going. I’m about to walk into a restaurant with some clients. But you’re going to be just fine. I love you both.”

“Love you, too!” Peter says. “Bye, Miss Potts!”

“Love you, bye,” Mr Stark grumbles, his arm still over his face. 

~*~

Peter spends the rest of the day waiting on Mr Stark. When he’s awake, Peter brings him water and juice and ginger ale. He watches movies with him and makes him take his tylenol every six hours on the dot. When he’s asleep, which is actually quite a lot considering Mr Stark isn’t exactly the best at sleeping, Peter makes soup so that it will be ready when Mr Stark wakes up.

That evening, Mr Stark starts to scratch and Peter makes him lift his shirt so he can see if he’s getting a rash. There are several faint spots on his abdomen, so Peter runs to the kitchen and returns with two gray and white oven mitts. 

“I am not putting those on,” Mr Stark says, shaking his head and tucking his hands under his armpits. “You can’t make me.”

Peter raises an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, I know you can make me,” Mr Stark admits. “But you won’t. I’m the adult, and you’re the kid. You have to listen to me. That’s how it goes.”

Peter just shakes his head sadly. “This is for your own good, Mr Stark. Otherwise I would definitely be listening to you.”

There’s a glimmer of fear in Mr Stark’s eyes, and Peter can tell that he believes that Peter will force the oven mitts on him. Instead of gearing up for a fight he’ll surely lose, he holds out his hands. “Fine,” he says, looking away. “I’m too weak to fight you. It’s pathetic.”

Peter quickly shoves a mitt onto each hand and then snaps a picture with his phone before Mr Stark realizes what he’s doing.

“Hey!” Mr Stark says. “What do you think you’re going to do with that picture?”

“Show it to Miss Potts. And Dr Banner. And Mr Rhodes. Oh, I almost forgot about Happy!” Peter has the group text all set up when he hears Mr Stark clear his throat. 

“FRIDAY, erase that picture of me wearing the oven mitts from Peter’s phone.”

Sure enough, the photo disappears from Peter’s photo gallery. “Hey!” he says, looking up at Mr Stark. “That was a really good picture! I just wanted to show them that I’m taking really good care of you.”

“Uh huh,” Mr Stark says, patting the couch beside him with an oven mitt. “Sit down, Pete. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

They settle in for the rest of the evening, watching movies and eating snacks. Well, Peter eats snacks. Mr Stark actually snacks on very little. When it’s nearing eleven, Peter notices that Mr Stark’s eyes have closed, and it’s clear to him that his mentor has fallen asleep--again. He would leave Mr Stark where he is, slouched over on about four pillows, but then he remembers that Mr Stark had made him move to his bed when he had the chicken pox. It was obviously for a reason, so Peter decides to do the same.

“Mr Stark,” he says, poking his shoulder. “Mr Stark, wake up. I think you should get into your bed.”

Mr Stark’s face scrunches up in discomfort and he swats an oven mitt in Peter’s direction. Peter just grabs his arm and pulls on it gently. 

“Come on, Mr Stark,” Peter says. “You’ll feel so much better if you can stretch out in your bed. I promise. Besides, you made me get up when I didn’t want to.”

“Oh, I see what this is about,” Mr Stark mumbles without opening his eyes as he pulls his arm away from Peter. “This is about revenge. Well, you can forget it. I’m staying right here. FRIDAY, lower the lights to ten percent. It’s bedtime.”

“No, you have to get into bed! I listened to you when you told me to get into bed,” Peter adds, hoping it will convince him. “When you tell me to do something, I trusted you and knew you were doing it because you thought it was best for me. Now I’m asking you to take your own advice and get into your bed tonight. Please, Mr Stark? I promise you’ll feel better.”

Mr Stark opens an eye and stares at him with it for what feels like a really long time. Finally, he sighs and pushes himself up from the pillows with effort. “Fine. I’ll feel guilty if I don’t.”

Peter grins and helps him off the couch, but when he doesn’t let go of Mr Stark’s arm when they start making their way across the living room, Mr Stark stops and narrows his eyes at him.

“I’m not an invalid, Pete. I can take care of myself enough to get into my own bed.” Mr Stark’s eyes are glossy with fever even though he took some tylenol just an hour and a half ago, but Peter is afraid to ask FRIDAY what his temperature is when Mr Stark is looking at him like that.

“I know,” he says. “But… Dr Banner said it was my job to look after you. It’s like a mission, and I’m not going to give up.” 

“Oh great.” Mr Stark sighs and then continues on his way towards his room. “I should have known better. You are the most resilient kid I know.”

“And how many kids do you know?” Peter asks, following along after him.

“Point made. Goodnight, Peter. I promise I’ll be fine. Don’t stay up too late.” He pats Peter’s back with an oven mitt and then turns, disappearing down the hallway and into his room while Peter watches, wondering what he should do.

Mr Stark is very difficult to take care of.

The second the door shuts, Peter quietly asks FRIDAY what Mr Stark’s temperature is. 

“It’s risen to 101.3, Peter. The tylenol does not seem to be helping much. Should I call Dr Banner?”

Peter bites his lip while he tries to decide what to do. Mr Stark isn’t going to like it, but Dr Banner had said that chicken pox was much harder on adults than it was on kids, and he doesn’t want Mr Stark to suffer any more than he possibly has to. “Yeah,” he says, sounding a little defeated. “Please ask Dr Banner to come up here and help me.”

There’s a pause and then FRIDAY replies, “Dr Banner is on his way up. He’s grabbing some supplies from the med bay first though. He says he’ll be a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Peter says and then starts picking up the living room. He doesn’t want Dr Banner to think he isn’t responsible at all. 

By the time Dr Banner walks through the elevator doors, Peter has all the snacks and drinks put away, but hasn’t yet gotten to the pillows and blankets. “Just leave it for now,” Dr Banner says when Peter makes a push to pick them all up at once.

He drops them back on the couch and then he notices what Dr Banner is holding in his hands. It’s an IV kit and a bag of fluids. Peter immediately blanches. 

“Relax,” Dr Banner says. “This isn’t for you. It’s for Tony. If his fever isn’t going down, he’s probably dehydrated. This should fix it.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” Peter asks. He doesn’t want Mr Stark to be sick anymore. He already feels guilty enough about giving him chicken pox. Now Mr Stark is going to have to get stuck by a needle? Peter hopes he doesn’t hate him forever.

“Then we move onto plan B. Or is it C? I guess the tylenol was plan A. But don’t worry, Peter. Everything is going to be alright. He’ll be just fine. I promise.” Dr Banner begins making his way to the hallway. “I’m assuming he’s in his room?”

“Uh huh,” Peter says, following after him. “He wouldn’t let me in there with him. He said he’s not an invalid, and he can take care of himself.”

Dr Banner raises his fist to the door. “Stubbornness. Don’t worry. I won’t let him say no to me.”

Peter desperately hopes so, but he holds his breath anyway while Dr Banner knocks. At first there is no answer, but when Dr Banner knocks again, they can both hear Mr Stark groan. 

“Tony,” Dr Banner says, pressing his ear to the door so he can hopefully hear a response. “It’s me. FRIDAY says your fever isn’t going down like it should. I’m coming in.” He opens the door so he and Peter can step inside. 

The room, while large and elegant, is a little bit of a disaster. With Miss Potts gone, and Mr Stark either taking care of Peter or not feeling well himself, he hasn’t really taken the time to pick up his room. His clothes are scattered on the floor, and draped over furniture, including the bed. Mr Stark looks like he’s fallen over face first into his side of the bed, still in the same t-shirt and sweatpants that he has been wearing all day. However, he did manage to get the oven mitts off. They’re currently on the floor beside the bed.

Peter frowns down at him. “Mr Stark, this is not taking care of yourself. I hope you know that.”

Mr Stark doesn't move. He just makes a pitiful sound and closes his eyes again. 

"Come on, you're going to have to sit up." Dr Banner grabs one of his arms and then looks at Peter. "Peter, hop on the bed and help me. I want him on his back, kind of resting against the headboard."

“I’m not an invalid!” Mr Stark says again once both Peter and Dr Banner are helping to hoist him up a ways on the bed. 

“Tell that to someone who cares,” Dr Banner says, sounding tired. He moves to grab the IV kit and starts to get everything ready on the nightstand. 

Peter has to tell himself over and over that it’s not for him, but then again, he’s worried for Mr Stark, so it’s hard to calm his anxiety. 

“Don’t watch, Peter,” Dr Banner says, looking his way. “Why don’t you hold his hand and try to focus on something else in the room? Okay?”

Peter does just that, taking Mr Stark’s hand and holding it tightly. 

“What’s wrong?” Mr Stark says, distracting Peter’s gaze from where he had focused on what is probably a really expensive painting of a landscape across from Mr Stark’s bed. “Hey, buddy, it’s me getting the stick, not you.”

“I know, but—” Peter can’t finish. How can he tell his mentor about the fear he feels? Like what if Mr Stark is so sick that the IV doesn’t help bring his fever down? What if they have to call 911? What if things are really really bad? He already watched his uncle die. He knows he won’t be able to take it.

“Hold on a second,” Mr Stark says softly to Dr Banner before squeezing Peter’s hand and letting go. “Come on, Pete, come here.”

Peter lets himself be drawn into the crook of Mr Stark’s arm. He can feel the heat radiating off him, and that’s even more scary, but he tucks his head underneath Mr Stark’s chin anyway.

“I’m going to be okay,” Mr Stark says, squeezing his arm. “I guess Bruce thinks I need some sort of IV, but if it were really serious, he’d call in for backup. Wouldn’t you, Bruce?”

“Definitely,” Dr Banner replies, busy securing the bag to the bedpost above Mr Stark’s head. “Don’t worry, Peter. Tony’ll be fine. He just needs a little extra help with his fluids because as you know, he’s not the best patient.”

“I tried to make him drink,” Peter sniffs. “It probably wasn’t enough.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mr Stark says, giving his arm a pat. “I’ll try harder for you. Okay? Now close your eyes. Bruce probably wants to get that needle in.”

“The needle won’t actually stay in your arm,” Bruce says. “It’s a tiny flexible catheter. You’ll barely feel it.”

“See?” Mr Stark says. “Now close your eyes, Underoos.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and presses his ear against Mr Stark’s chest. He can usually hear heartbeats pretty well with his spider senses, but now he can really hear Mr Stark’s heart thumping steadily. He focuses on that instead of what Dr Banner is doing on Mr Stark’s other side.

“All done,” Dr Banner says after a few minutes. 

Peter opens his eyes to see him removing the tourniquet from Mr Stark’s arm. He lets out his breath and then looks at Mr Stark’s face to make sure he’s okay. It appears that he’s almost fallen back asleep, so it must not have hurt too much to put the IV in. 

“Can you let me know when the IV is done?” Dr Banner is asking him. “I think we’ll give him one more after that. Then I’ll have FRIDAY monitor his temperature to make sure it’s going down. Are you going to stay with him?”

Peter nods. “He stayed with me when I was sick. Thanks for helping him, Dr Banner. I didn’t really know what to do.”

Dr Banner gathers up his things and then turns to Peter, smiling gently. “Sometimes you gotta be a little forceful with him. He’s used to getting his way, but this time, he’s sick. What you say goes. Got it, Peter?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure he listens.” Peter pauses and watches Dr Banner walk towards the door. “Um, Dr Banner?”

Dr Banner pauses and turns around to look at him. “Yes?”

“You’ll still be here just in case he, uh, won’t listen to me, right? I just want him to get better.”

“Not going anywhere,” Dr Banner confirms. “Why don’t you put on one of those movies you’re always trying to make him watch. You know, the magic ones? That will show him for not listening to you.”

Peter grins. “Thanks, Dr Banner! Goodnight!” Once the door closes and he and Mr Stark are alone, Peter cuddles back into Mr Stark’s side and says, “FRIDAY, play the first Harry Potter.”


End file.
